


snowy night, a woman on fire, I'm waitin' for ya

by queenofthecon



Category: Bon Appétit Test Kitchen RPF, Chef RPF
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Mistletoe, Secret Santa, holiday fluff, just to be clear - fuck you alex delany - sorry BTC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:44:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22021888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofthecon/pseuds/queenofthecon
Summary: “You kiss her, you gotta kiss fuckin’ everyone, Delany, that’s the rules of mistletoe,” Brad dares, wrapping his arms around her shoulders from behind as she scrambles into his lap, away from Delany and his devilish eyes.from the prompt 'mistletoe and Cape Cod'DISCLAIMER JUNE 2020: Please note that this fic was written months prior to the realisation that Alex Delany had previously made misogynistic, racist and homophobic comments. I apologise for including him in this fanfic and will never write him as a character again. However, my options are to add this disclaimer or delete the fic as I have no motivation to re-write anything for now, and as this work is fictional, I chose to add this disclaimer. So, just to be crystal clear:Screw you, and your fake fuckboy ‘charm’, Delany.Thank you for your time.
Relationships: Brad Leone & Claire Saffitz, Brad Leone/Claire Saffitz
Comments: 10
Kudos: 86





	snowy night, a woman on fire, I'm waitin' for ya

**Author's Note:**

  * For [badtemperedchocolate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/badtemperedchocolate/gifts).

> This is in dedication to the wonderful, incredible [badtemperedchocolate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/badtemperedchocolate/pseuds/badtemperedchocolate) whose writing is a gift all year around. Thank you for the inspiring prompt and forgive me for being a little early. The next couple of days are going to be impossibly busy for me and I don't want to keep you waiting. Please go read her fics if you haven't, they're a goddamn treasure.
> 
> Standard RPF disclaimer yadda yadda yadda.

DISCLAIMER JUNE 2020: Please note that this fic was written months prior to the realisation that Alex Delany had previously made misogynistic, racist and homophobic comments. I apologise for including him in this fanfic and will never write him as a character again. However, my options are to add this disclaimer or delete the fic as I have no motivation to re-write anything for now, and as this work is fictional, I chose to add this disclaimer. So, just to be crystal clear:

Screw you, and your fake fuckboy ‘charm’, Delany. 

Thank you for your time.

***

Nothing bad could ever happen at Carla’s house, Claire is sure.

From the moment she steps inside her friend’s brownstone on the lower east side, there’s a pure, warm smell of intense mulled wine and spiked cider permeating Claire’s senses. It’s the same smell every year – comforting and homely, even though she knows already that Delany’s been at the mix with a spoon in his hand, adding an extra stick of cinnamon and lemon peel when Carla’s not looking. If Carla does mind, she never seems to show it. Claire can’t do the holidays without them all.

“Well, finally,” Carla beams broad and loose as the door in front of Claire opens. So, okay, she’s twenty minutes late, that’s basically ten minutes early in Saffitz time. Immediately, Carla snatches up the tightly sealed serving platter from Claire’s half frozen hands, poking and prodding at the baked goods covered in plastic. “Come inside before the cold gets in,” she ushers softly. “You look like frostbite.”

Shaking off the snow on her boots, Claire steps in through the door, letting Carla close it behind her. It’s a cliché beyond all clichés, really, but Claire counts down the days to this night every year, to Carla’s annual BA Editors Pre-Holiday Party and the incredible spread her friends put on. It makes the sting of the holidays this year feel less intense; she’d made her choice between Florida and New York and that’s just what it is.

“I made chestnut blondies, I hope that’s okay,” she replies, shrugging off the many, many layers of thick winter gear. There’s already a giant pile of coats and scarves by the door, and she knows who each belongs to. The snow’s already melted into drops of water on Carla’s hardwood floors, Molly’s giant puffy coat still glistening in the low light.

“When are blondies not okay?” Carla snorts and leads Claire through the narrow hallway of her home. “We’re waiting on you, Claire, you’re missing the fun.”

Claire’s nose is pink and a little numb as she feels that amber musk of spiced alcohol and pine bring her back to her holiday happy place, the fire crackling in the living room just begging for marshmallow toasting. Nothing else, though, tops the smiles on everyone’s faces as she walks in the living room; every single one of her friends are here, curled and cosy as if they’ve been snowed in for hours, just talking animatedly with drinks and snacks in their hands. It’s _perfect_.

“There she is!” Brad calls, his arms wide and face split into an instant grin. He pats the empty seat beside him on the couch, his cheeks already rosy from the wine in his cup. “I saved you a seat! Lucky you got here on time, Mol’s been eyeing it and I ain’t above selling real estate to the highest bidder, Claire.”

“Five more minutes and it would have been mine!” Molly snarks back with a grin, her legs stretched out in front of her where she’s sat on the floor by the fire. “You’re never this early, Claire, why now?”

“I’m twenty minutes late, actually,” she says, thanking Carla as the woman hands her a drink from seemingly nowhere. “Did I miss anything good? Scooch over…” Sweeping her hair out of her collar, Claire seats herself in the space next to Brad, squished a little between him and the end of the couch, biting her lip as he and Rick shift to accommodate her.

“We were just gabbing about where you were,” Brad replies, looping his arm over her shoulders to give her more room; she ignores the way her side nestles up against him perfectly, how warm his skin is over her plain black dress. “Starting to worry about ya.”

It’s been too long since they just hung out together, even as a group. It was one of the things she missed, working on her own, just how lonely it could get when there’s nobody to tell you how to fix your mistakes or where to improve.

“I’m here now, right?” Claire smiles softly, tucking her hair back behind her ear as it falls loose.

“Glad you are,” Brad mutters as he lifts his drink, glancing down at her mouth as she sips at her own too. She’s missed _him_ as well, probably more than either realises until they’re sitting next to each other with a drink in their hands and no weight of work on their shoulders.

The mulled wine on her tongue is spicy and a little salty-sweet and she’s there, finally free of the holiday stress and tension. It’s like she deflates and relaxes, and she sees everyone shift, sliding back into conversations as easy as anything. But Brad’s eyes crinkle at the corners and settle on her flushed face; she doesn’t think he’d look at her that intently without a drink inside him already, though the idea makes her ache all the same. They’ve been dancing around this for months, for years, each time a sliver closer to the edge. She’s silent for a moment and tugs at her clothes when his eyes flick all the way from her head down to her legs, encased in the thickest tights she owns. He falls back into her heart with a thud.

“You have no idea how much I’ve been looking forward to tonight,” Claire says, turning to look at him slightly, his arm never dropping from her shoulders.

“Yeah, I do,” Brad replies, clinking his glass against hers softly.

The fire cracks across the room and the frost in her bones is thawing.

Soon enough, laughter echoes in Carla’s beautiful kitchen, the countertops of every available space completely laden and groaning heavy with food, all of it beautifully plated and tempting her greedy eyes. There’s brisket and lobster rolls and everything she loves about all her friends represented in one enormous spread. Rick had made tamales and Chris had brought the most beautiful looking brown butter cookies Claire had ever seen, even in the test kitchen. Each dish is immaculate, classic and delicious. She’s leaning over and picking out an olive grissini when Claire feels blunt fingertips graze the small of her back as Brad leans past her to get to the oysters.

“Oh my God, Claire, you gotta try one of these,” Brad says, leaning across the kitchen countertop and grabbing two of the oysters on a half shell. “I swear, creamiest babies you ever had in your life.”

She’d never really loved oysters raw like this but he’s already tipping back his second one and looks at her like he’s excited for her to taste them, to get her approval and it’s flattering if she’s being totally honest with herself. “Raw?” Claire says, scrunching up her nose as she reaches over to the platter and picks a smaller half-shell up. It smells a little salty but clean and fresh, nothing like she’d expected. “You brought these?”

“Uh yeah, course I did, always have oysters on the holidays, Claire,” he says excitedly, picking up a plate and loading it with basically anything he can get his hands on. His elbow prods her as she procrastinates on actually eating. “Just try it, come on! When am I ever wrong about this shit?”

Her eyes roll but she can’t deny that when the oyster slides down, she’s hit with sweet, creamy, briny flavours exploding across her palette. There’s a tiny little micro dice of apple and red wine vinegar to cut the saltiness and, fuck, Brad was right. It’s delicious.

“Okay…” she mumbles, pressing a finger to her lips to prevent herself from smiling as she sets the empty shell in a tub beside the platter. “Yeah, that’s pretty good.”

“Pretty good, she says!” he barks in laughter, shaking his head. “You just don’t wanna admit to being wrong about raw oysters.”

Claire rolls her eyes at him because he’s right – again – and picks up a couple more oysters for her plate, dressing them with his homemade mignonette before she loads up with as much food as she can. It’s like the one good thing about being around a bunch of foodie-type people – they’re all as greedy as each other deep down, all hungry and wanting to try everything at least once. There’s never much left over.

“Eat your dinner, Brad,” Claire orders, topping his own plate with one of his oysters. “Don’t want you wasting away on me.”

Brad just grins at her as she shoves a breadstick into his mouth sideways.

\---

It’s entirely possible, more than likely even, that Claire’s consumed more calories at this party than she’s had in the last week combined. Between the ribs, the lobster, the mac and cheese with seven cheeses, beautiful winter salads served with copious wine and wonderful company, she’s entirely too lazy to get off Carla’s couch for at least the next couple hours. It’s okay though – she’s got Brad to lean on as he talks animatedly to whoever’s listening about what’s wrong with modern food trends and all the crap that Buzzfeed’s been coming out with for years, those cheap and un-usable recipes with pre-packaged shit he _hates_. Claire just lazes there and tries not to laugh at the look on Delany’s face when Brad conversely waxes lyrical about the virtues of Miller Lite.

“I’m telling you, bud, it’s like the fuckin’ prosecco of beer, alright?” Brad rhapsodises, gesturing to nothing in particular. “Got that little like fuckin’ peppery-gingery-yeasty thing goin’ on, goddamn delicious.”

But Claire can’t stop herself and bursts into giggles at how Delany just shakes his head. “I think you broke him, Brad,” she says, poking Delany’s knee with her foot. “You alive in there, Alex?”

“Brad’s breaking Delany again?” Rick says from the other end of the couch. “Oh, it’s the Miller Lite thing again. I tell you what, Brad’s not wrong about it, Miller Lite’s not bad. Tried it the last time he broke Delany’s head.”

That just makes her laugh even harder. “This isn’t the first time?!” Claire exclaims, sitting up away from Brad just a touch to look at him incredulously. “You doing this on purpose?”

“Miller Lite is good and fuck all you,” Brad raises his glass and drains it in one, smirking as Claire belly-laughs next to him. She _may_ be a little bit on the drunk side.

Delany just shakes his head at them both, sitting back on Carla’s coffee table, his long legs folded basically in half. “Every freaking year, Claire, he and I get into this, like clockwork.”

Everyone seems relieved when Carla interrupts what Claire assumes is Brad’s continued tirade against the cult of beer snobbery. He would never admit to even liking Miller Lite when he’s sober, and she’s going to file this information in a special place in her brain for the next time he teases her.

“We gotta do Secret Santa before Claire taps out for the night,” Carla announces, bringing over a giant wicker basket full of wrapped gifts. “Don’t scowl at me, Saffitz, you’re practically using that boy as a pillow right now.”

“It’s not her fault I’m fuckin’ comfy,” Brad retorts as Carla throws a present into his chest with a thud. “Hey, hey, easy Cheech, heads up’d be nice, y’know.”

Claire giggles as she sits up and just about catches her gift before it can hit Brad too. “Hey, I got better reflexes than you, how ‘bout that?” she snarks, her eyes lighting up at the beautifully wrapped gift in her hands. It has curled ribbons and a gorgeous glittering bow with a matching name tag. It’s obviously been wrapped by someone who isn’t a toddler. “This is so pretty, I know who mine’s _not_ from…”

He almost glares at her for a second as Carla finishes handing over the gifts. “I take full fucking offence to that, Half-Sour. I am great at gift-wrapping, you’re just like… next level, extra gift-wrapping. We can’t all be Martha fuckin’ Stewart.”

“I take that only as a compliment, just so you know.” Her teeth drag across her bottom lip as she unwraps her present.

Brad must be drunk if he’s swearing this much and ribbing her endlessly; she’s getting there too, it seems, because she can’t wait to see the look on his face when he opens his own gift. It takes a minute, but the floor is a mess of wrapping paper and glitter, of gasps and murmurs and drunken thank-yous to the entire room. She does love hers – a soft, warm infinity scarf, vintage if she’s not mistaken, which has to be from either Rick or Delany.

It’s almost unfair really, that she’d managed to draw Brad’s name from the hat. For six years they’d worked together and for three of those years, one of them had drawn the other’s name inexplicably, despite the insurmountable odds of it happening. This year, though, it’s special. It’s _different_.

There’s something in her throat that catches nervously watching his face as he unwraps the gift she’s got him. It’s as if Brad suddenly sobers when he realises, that small private smile on his face, the one she works hard to achieve and rarely gets. It’s unguarded and golden.

“Holy shit,” he mutters, pulling out a small photo in a simple wooden frame.

“What’s the thing?” Chris asks from where he’s sitting on the arm of another couch, frowning softly in curiosity.

“It’s uh…” Brad stutters, clearing his throat with a soft cough. “It’s me and my Dad, from when I was a kid, went fishin’ together, caught a whopper, he was so proud.” Claire’s never been happier to see Brad so quiet and reverent. He flips the frame over to show Chris and she catches that ghost of his smile, the one he reserves for the moments he cherishes. “We had a house fire when I was a kid, didn’t think any of these survived.”

And then Brad turns and looks down at her face and yeah, he _knows_ it’s from her. She’d tried to wrap the box as shoddily as her Type A brain could let her and still, he just knows.

“Christmas miracle, huh?” Claire mutters. Brad won’t stop looking at her like that and she’s sure that something’s gonna break in the end.

“Oh… my fucking God!” Delany laughs loudly, breaking the spell between Brad and Claire as he finally gets his gift open. “These… these are amazing.”

Alex slides onto his head a pair of felt antlers adorned with the most fake plastic mistletoe Claire’s ever seen in her life. She grins despite herself because that’s totally Molly’s doing and it’s so Delany she could cry. Brad barks in laughter at the sight too when he finally looks up from his photo.

“Oh God, really?” Claire shakes her head. “That’s not even real mistletoe, it doesn’t count!”

“It totes does!” Molly calls from across the room, stepping towards them with her own flushed-drunk cheeks and a mischievous look in her eyes. To nobody’s shock, she bends down slightly to where Delany’s sat on the coffee table, giving him a drunken kiss dead on his lips. “See, seems like they work to me,” she pats Delany twice on the cheek. “Have fun, Delanes.”

Claire has to admit that mistletoe wrapped antlers somehow suit Alex down to a tee and she’s not surprised when he rises and walks up to Carla, beaming as their gracious host gives him a sweeter, shorter peck on the lips because that’s all he’s getting from her.

“Best present ever,” he breathes softly. Alex turns to Claire and her eyes bug in realisation. “Oh no, no,” she laughs as he shrugs with that boyish grin. “I am not kissing you, Alex.”

“It’s the rules, Claire, I don’t make ‘em!” Delany says, sitting down on the arm of the couch next to her. “Come on, just a little kiss.”

“No!” she giggles as he looms over her. “Brad, save me!”

“You kiss her, you gotta kiss fuckin’ everyone, Delany, that’s the rules of mistletoe,” Brad dares, wrapping his arms around her shoulders from behind as she scrambles into his lap, away from Delany and his devilish eyes.

“Tis the season…” Delany says, moving towards Claire but diverting his path at the last second and landing a peck on Brad’s lips. The arms around her shoulders loosen in shock and drop.

Claire lays back in Brad’s lap and laughs until she can barely see, the tears running over her cheeks. “Oh my God, Delany!” she says breathlessly, sitting up on Brad’s knees as he just seems to have frozen. “Fair’s fair, I guess.”

She barely finishes her sentence when Alex leans over and cups her face in his broad hands, kissing her soundly and for maybe a beat too much when she feels his tongue swipe at the seam of her lips. Despite herself, Claire grins and pushes him away easily with her hands, the blush instantly spreading over her.

“Worth it!” Alex grins, jumping up from the end of the couch.

“Delany, you don’t slip someone tongue with a mistletoe kiss!” she says, wiping her mouth off from his sloppy kiss. “Ew…”

Brad stiffens, but Claire can’t quite tell if that’s from jealousy or anger or something else entirely. Nevertheless, his eyes flicker to her reddened lips too and Claire blushes brightly.

“You gettin’ fresh, Delany? Better fucking watch yourself,” Brad teases and then Claire’s sure it’s just from him being protective over her. It _has_ to be.

Also, why is she still sitting in his lap?

\---

It takes another two hours of coffees, dessert and someone taking the antlers away from Delany to get Claire to sober up. Most of her friends are already half-way home and she’s kinda sad to be putting on about a million thick layers of snow gear for the walk back to her apartment from Carla’s brownstone. The fire’s long gone down and the giddiness of Brad’s arms around her shoulders protecting her from Delany and his mistletoe antlers are now treasured memories in the vault. She slips her coat closed and takes a boxed-up slice of homemade pannetone from Carla, trying not to think about how this is the happiest she’ll feel through to New Year’s.

“I really wish you’d said yes to spending the holidays with me,” Carla says, hugging her friend goodnight. “What are you even gonna do in Cape Cod on your own?”

The hug breaks. Part of Claire wishes that she had taken up the offer but maybe the peace and the quiet will help her re-centre herself too. It wouldn’t be her first one alone.

“You just want a buffer between you and your mother-in-law,” Claire smiles teasingly. “I’ll be fine, the Cape’s beautiful, and I got a rental _with_ snow tires and everything, before you even start!” she shoots a look at Brad, who’d already had his mouth open to protest her unpreparedness for mid-winter somewhere that wasn’t a big city.

“I didn’t say anything!” he replies, pulling his own coat on too.

“I heard you thinking it,” Claire retorts before turning back to Carla. “Thank you so much for tonight, it was the most fun I’ve had since the last party you threw.”

Carla laughs and hugs her one more time. “We should have holiday parties twice a year, huh?”

Reluctant to leave the warm confines of a real home, Claire says a quick, soft goodbye to Brad and Molly before stepping out into the snow. She’s happy to see that the flakes have stopped falling and the night’s calmer, less windy and less bitter as well. Either that or her mood’s been elevated by the feeling of good company, good food and kissing Alex Delany just to see the look on Brad’s face. That was totally worth the dumb gossip in the new year.

She’s barely down to the end of the block before she hears heavy footsteps thundering towards her. “Claire, wait up!” Turning, Claire chuckles as she sees Brad trying to jog through a few inches of fresh snow, his heavy breath a fog around his head. “God, I’m out of shape, Claire. What the fuck...”

“What are you doing…” she chuckles slightly, “Aren’t you going the other way?”

“Let me walk you home,” he demands, the tip of his nose pink. “It’s dark and fuckin’ freezing out here. And shit, I just wanna walk you home, alright?”

Of course, she’s not gonna say no, but it’s nice to make him work for it, which is beside the point really. “Brad, I’m walking like six blocks, it’ll be fine.”

“No way, Half-Sour, I’m a gentleman, unlike some asshole types tonight,” he says stubbornly, walking next to her as she trudges through the slushy snow.

Claire rolls her eyes. “He’s not an asshole, Brad. Delany just had one too many, and that gift didn’t help,” she replies. “Didn’t mean anything, he’s not trying something.”

“I know, I know, I _know_,” he grumbles, shoving his hands in his pockets. “But if he does-”

“Oh my God, shut up,” Claire laughs again, shoving him in his side. “Why are you walking me home? You never offered before, and I know you’re not worried about _Delany_.”

He’s quiet for a moment and it’s like she’s touched a nerve, but Claire doesn’t push, just drags her heavy feet through the snow even though her legs are frozen and aching already. She’ll take every step slowly if it means getting Brad to tell her something real again.

“How’d you get that picture of me and my Dad?” he asks quietly, softly and un-Brad-like. “They all got fucking destroyed in that fire, my Mom’s gonna be so happy you found this.”

It doesn’t surprise her that he refuses to dance around the subject, even though she knows it’s a raw point. “You told me, remember? You and your Dad caught that fish and the guy at the bait shop was so impressed he took a photo and started a wall of fame?” Claire looks down at her feet for a second; Brad recounts that story over and over, and the fish gets bigger every time he tells it. “I just got lucky, found the guy’s son, took a shot that he still had the photo. Bingo, bango, bongo, I guess.”

To her surprise – because he always does that, surprises her – Brad laughs. “You went to all that fucking trouble, tracking some guy down, to get maybe a photo that’s like thirty years old. For Secret Santa?”

“I was gonna get the mistletoe antlers, but Molly beat me to it,” she jokes softly, the wind whipping up around her. “It didn’t take that much effort.” Lie, lie, lie. “Besides, you have like everything sent to you in PR packages now, what the hell else was I gonna buy you?”

“Claire-”

“Really, it’s nothing, Brad,” she waves off, sparing a glance back up at his face and finding only earnest gratitude in response. “I’m just glad you like it.”

“You kiddin’ me, Saffitz?” he jostles her side. “You’re like the best ever. Don’t fuckin’ deserve it.” There’s a beat and she feels the heat come to her cheeks again. The air’s a little thicker, warmer than she remembers, their breath mingling as mist in the air together. “Seriously. You got no idea what that photo means.”

“Yeah, I do,” she replies with a tiny smirk.

The hug he gives her outside her subway station is bone crushing and lingers with her for far longer than the kiss Delany had planted drunkenly on her lips. Brad’s fingers slide down her back and she can feel his strength through three different outer layers she has on. Suddenly she’s never been warmer or more unsure of anything else in her life than where they’re both heading. She’s fairly sure she may have even kissed him with just another drink inside her to make her brave, knowing that he’s waiting for her to make the last step. But it’s too exposed, to open to people milling around them outside the subway, and Claire thinks that maybe she’s just not there yet, still unsure of how he feels about her.

When Brad’s lips ghost across the shell of her ear, whispering his sincerest thank you, Claire doesn’t want to be in Massachusetts for the holidays. Claire wants to be in this spot on a snowy street in mid-town New York, wrapped in Brad Leone’s arms forever. He feels like home.

\---

Cape Cod during the holidays is beautiful. It’s her childhood, it’s snowmen competitions with her sisters, it’s holiday infatuations with the cute boy across the road whose family were richer than Midas. There’s always stories and s’mores and a tree alongside gingerbread houses and The Muppet Christmas Carol (which is undoubtedly still the best holiday film of all time, don’t even try and test her). So much of her good memories have formed in these walls; the photos of her and her sisters litter everywhere because her Mom just can’t stop with pointing them out to all the company who come through their door. Claire _loves_ Cape Cod, even though now it’s a little too cold, undecorated and empty. Even when she’s alone, it’s _her_ palace and she won’t have it any other way. All told, it’s not a bad holiday. She’s got such beautiful gifts from her family, and more besides. No, Claire’s not sure there’s much that could make her solo Cape Cod trip better.

Except maybe one thing.

Brad hasn’t texted her back since Carla’s party, hasn’t seen her or spoken to her and she’s maybe feeling too many feelings all at once to process that; she’s not brave enough to ask herself _why_. She has no expectations of anything more than they are now. It’s okay, she tells herself. Just how the world goes.

Claire’s snuggled tight and warm in a fort of blankets and pillows when her phone rings on the couch cushion next to her face. It breaks her from the drowsiness taking over her head at least, and she gropes to pick up the call.

It’s not him. She’s not that lucky.

“Hey Mom,” Claire says sleepily into her phone, not even bothering to sit up from her prone position on the couch with her popcorn bowl.

“_You said you were gonna call me when you got to the house safe, Claire,_” her mother replies, sounding less scolding and more concerned. “_Is everything okay, honey?_”

Claire smiles despite herself. “It’s good, sorry for not calling. I just kinda collapsed on the couch.”

“_I bet you did,_” her mother chuckles in reply. “_Are you sure about this, Claire-bear? I’m sure you could still come down and spend at least some time with us._”

It’s almost tempting but she’s far too nice to admit that she’s feeling the emptiness of the house a bit more now she’s here and that it’s not necessarily a bad thing. “I have to work in a couple days, it’s not really possible,” Claire lies, theorising that while she did have New Year’s orders to complete, she wouldn’t do them this far in advance. “I’ll come see you when you and Dad get back.”

“_I just don’t like the idea of you being alone. You didn’t want to spend the holiday with one of your friends?_”

This conversation is quickly turning into a headache. “Not like I can just invite myself, Mom…”

“_Please, I know for a fact Carla invited you.”_

“Carla just wants-”

“_And there’s no way on God’s green earth that Brad didn’t, he practically worships the ground you walk on!”_

“Okay, Mom, no he doesn’t. He’s just… Brad…” she says, lifting her head when there’s a knock at the door. She’s never been so grateful to have an excuse to end a conversation. “Gotta go, I’ll call you later!”

Claire doesn’t even wait to hear her mother protest before she hangs up but there’s another louder knock and she dashes for the door, wondering whether it’s the neighbour and their escape artist cat again.

“Coming!” she calls, brushing bits of popcorn from her chest. “No, Mr Lawrence, I haven’t seen your cat to-”

It seems poetic, really, that it’s Brad at her door with relief in his eyes. She just kinda stands there, silenced by the sight of him in fucking Massachusetts at her front door.

“Hey,” he sighs in relief while she’s barely registering what’s happening. “Thank fuck I got the right house. All these places look the same in the dark, Claire, you got no idea.”

“Wha-Brad…” Claire just blinks at him dumbfounded. Somehow, Brad Leone is standing on the porch of her parents’ home in _Cape Cod_, looking like he’s bursting at the seams. “I… what’s going on?”

“Look, I’m sorry, I tried not to let it bug me, but it’s bugging me, Claire, and I can’t enjoy my fricking holiday when I don’t know why you didn’t tell me, Saffitz?” he blurts out, looking down at her. He seems even bigger when she’s basically in pyjamas. “You’re fucking spending Christmas alone and you didn’t tell me.”

Again, Claire can only really barely register that he’s in front of her because she’s freezing her ass off in the doorway with just a ratty t-shirt and some shorts on. “What? I don’t… is that why you drove four hours to here? Just to ask me that? You coulda called!”

It’s as if he’s only just realised how dumb it is, logically speaking. Brad and logic don’t really mix well in the best of circumstances, but this one takes the cake. “Kinda?” he replies eventually. “You wanna fricking let me in before you freeze?”

She still isn’t sure what’s going on: Brad’s _here_ and her brain is only just comprehending that he’s not in New Jersey, but she steps aside so he can come in and the door closes to the icy wind. Claire has to rub her eyes to make sure they’re not playing tricks on her.

“I’m still not sure exactly why you’re here…” Claire says as he tugs off his coat and gloves. “Your Mom’s gonna kill you if you’re not at home tomorrow, Brad, it’s Christmas Eve!”

“Yeah, well, better that than you being on your own down here, Claire,” he grumbles. “Why didn’t you say a damn thing about it? You know I’d have asked my Mom in a heartbeat, she’d have said yes, you know.”

“I know, I know…” she sighs. Her arms wrap around her torso because try as she might, she couldn’t seem to get warm now with him looking at her. “It’s not a big deal, I don’t get why everyone’s making something out of it,” she shrugs. “I don’t like people feeling sorry for me.”

“Sorry?” he replies incredulously. “Shit, Claire, I just feel like an asshole for not asking,” Brad shakes his head, dumping his coat on the back of a chair. “And after that photo. Truth is… truth is I just wanna spend the holiday with you.”

Claire has to let that sink over her for a moment, perching herself on the back of the couch. Her head was swirling from a rollercoaster of exhaustion from her own drive, from seeing him here, being alone during the holidays. She doesn’t know where to begin when he’s looking at her like that, telling her the things she’s always wanted secretly to hear.

“You do?” she says, trying not to grin at the hope building in her chest. “With me?”

Brad grins back as he sees the spark light in her eyes. “Wanna spend all my fucking time with you lately, Half-Sour. Sorry it took me this long to realise that. I don’t wanna be anywhere but with you, here. I think you do too.”

It’s hard for Claire to not smile as he steps towards her. “This is insane,” she mutters as he reaches out, tucking her messy hair back behind her ear, as if he’s waiting on permission to kiss her. “Totally crazy.”

“Oh shit, wait,” he says suddenly, freezing on the spot for half a second and nearly giving her a heart attack as well. “I got you something!”

Brad digs around in his discarded jacket, grinning impishly as he pulls out a pair of felt antlers, wrapped in fake mistletoe, kind of broken and tangled, but unmistakable and she starts laughing when he slips them on over his hat.

“Oh my God,” Claire breathes through her belly laughs. “Did you buy those?”

“Fuck no,” Brad replies, resuming his place in front of where she’s sitting on the back of the couch. “Stole ‘em off Delany. Kid’s a menace, kissing you like that. Soft lips, though, right? Wonder if he moisturises…”

Claire reaches up and flicks one of the mistletoe berries hanging more precariously, her eyes grazing over Brad’s mouth. “He’ll find out you know. You’re gonna get in big trouble when he figures out it was you who stole them.”

Brad leans down, closer, closer, closer inch by inch until he’s a hair’s breadth from her lips; he smells of coffee and she wants nothing more than to taste it.

“Already in trouble here, Claire,” he murmurs, sliding his lips tenderly over hers. Her skin warms from the touch of his cold fingertips as he sweeps a rough hand down her neck, his thumb grazing her pulse. His tongue swipes at the seam of her mouth and she groans into him, pulling him close to her body. She's not saying anything about the rules of mistletoe kissing now.

By the time he’s got her thighs in his hands, wrapped around his waist, the mistletoe antlers are on the floor, long, long forgotten.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find mistletoe antlers at your local tacky Christmas gift store (Alex Delany sold separately).


End file.
